Love Won't Let You Get Away
by Darling Pretty
Summary: "As the downstairs lights turned off, Mary did a quick bit of magic, erasing herself from their photos and, more importantly, their memories." Mary/Bert.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi! I really should not be writing this, as I have far too many things on my plate as it is. But this is a really short story (I'm thinking 3-4 chapters, tops) that was rather insistent about being written. This chapter is the set-up/prologue/whatever else you would like to call it and I hope you like it.**

**The title is taken from a Bing Crosby/Rosemary Clooney duet (I'm sure someone else has sung it at another time, but I'm using Bing and Rosemary as my reference and there's nothing wrong with that, so THERE! Umm… I'm not crazy, it's just late) off the album "Fancy Meeting You Here" (among others).**

**I own absolutely nothing.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>1920s<strong>_

Somewhere around 1920—she can't remember the year exactly; when you have an infinite amount of time, the years tend to run together—Mary had realized that the way she felt about Bert had changed. It had probably happened a long way back, around the time she had stayed with the had stayed with the Banks, somewhere between forays into chalk drawings and tea parties on the ceiling, something had changed. Bert had always been her faithful friend, no more, no less. When she thought of him, she felt a warm, affectionate feeling. But somehow that had evolved. She still felt warmly affectionate, but it was different—a not unpleasant fluttering in her stomach began accompanying it now. And God forbid he smiled at her. It's not a feeling she was used to. And around 1920, she admitted to herself something she'd probably known on some level for a good twenty or thirty years—she admitted that she's in love with her best friend.

_**1930s**_

As momentous as that revelation is, she didn't have time to dwell. As the financial crisis spread throughout the world, it seemed like the number of families needing her help doubled. The second she left one family, the wind whisked her straight to the next family. She made it to the park with whatever children she happened to be watching, but the visits were so brief that she barely had time to remember that particular revelation. For the time being, she was happy simply spending time with him and helping children as she was meant to do.

_**1940s**_

It all changed with the second World War. She hadn't thought it was possible for her services to be needed anymore than they had been during the Depression, but the times proved her wrong as families tried to fill the gaping holes left by fathers or brothers or sons. But instead of distracting her, as the business of the 30s had, every assignment pulled at her heart and she couldn't help asking herself what she would do without Bert. She didn't like the answer at all.

Late in 1949, she stayed with the Ferrer family—the family of a wealthy Spanish business man. The father had uprooted his family to move to London. Maria, the youngest, was too little to truly feel the change, but Miguel and Carmen, the other two children, missed Spain terribly. Mary carefully considered her plan of action and realized that it would be best to show them that London had a magic of its own, so of course they visited the park. She had watched them with satisfaction—the wind would come to blow her to her next post soon, she could feel it.

Later that evening the children all waved to Bert as he cheerfully walked away. Maria and Miguel accompanied him to the gate but Carmen stayed by her nanny.

At eleven, Carmen was just old enough to realize the intense longing hidden behind Mary Poppins' calm face. Carmen looked up at her nanny with an odd little smile. She may have only been eleven, but she was an old soul and her brown eyes seemed to carry the weight of decades behind them. "You like him very much, don't you, Mary Poppins?" she asked knowingly.

Mary Poppins didn't respond but she nodded stiffly.

"I'll get Miguel and Maria washed up for dinner," Carmen offered, grabbing her younger siblings and dragging them inside. "I think he cares for you very much too," she smiled before closing the door.

"Bert," Mary called. She would never be caught running, but her sensible boots definitely beat a rather quick rhythm against the pavement. She reached him just as he turned around. She glanced around quickly to assure herself that no one was watching and then pressed her lips nervously to his. She was pleased when his arms found their way around her waist. The shoulders of her heavy wool coat bunched up around her shoulders as she slid her arms around his neck to pull him close.

_**1950s**_

They married on the first day of spring in 1950. Neither Bert nor Mary could wait to start their life together—they had wasted enough time apart as it was. So they married in a small ceremony, presided over by Uncle Albert and attended by the Banks, now both with wonderful families of their own, and Ferrer children, along with a few of the sweeps. No one invited the wind or let it know, for fear it would take a disliking to the union.

The first month of their marriage was deliriously happy—spent settling in to married life and decorating a small, charming house. At the end of the first month, she felt the first gentle tug of the wind, pulling her from the core of her being towards her next assignment. But she wasn't ready to give up her happy home quite so soon into her marriage, so she firmly grounds herself and refuses to follow. The wind becomes more insistent but it's not a match for her will.

In August, Bert came home to a warm dinner and his wife tapping her foot impatiently as she waited for him. "Well, do sit down and eat your dinner," she chided, hastening him to his seat.

"'Ere, Mary, what's this about?"

"Eat your dinner before it gets cold," she ordered. He obediently sat down and picked up his fork. "Bert, I-"

He took an ill-advised bite of his pot roast right before she said, "I'm expecting,' sending him into a coughing fit.

"Expecting what?" he asked after he finished choking. "A package?"

"A child!"

"Cor, Mar, that's the sort of thing you want to wait to tell a man until after 'e's chewed 'is food!"

"I apologize. I'll bear that in mind when-" She didn't get to finish her sentence because his fork dropped with a clatter and he sprung out of his chair to sweep her up and spin her in a joyful circle, placing many a kiss on her lips and mumbling "I love you, Mary Alfred" over and over again. She laughed happily and requested that he put her down.

Their happiness is short lived unfortunately. To get married without the wind's permission was one thing, but to have a child was an entirely different matter.

It was obvious when the wind found out that she was pregnant. The window panes rattled and the shutters of their cozy little house were nearly torn clean off their hinges. At first, Mary had shaken her head at the pure childishness of this tantrum, but it started wearing on her. Before she knew it, she was nearly doubled over in pain as she felt herself being pulled quite literally in two directions. Bert held her tightly, worry clouding his face, trying to hold her in place. Finally, she got angry, crossing to the window and flinging it open.

"Mary-" Bert started but she silenced him with a glance.

"Stop that this instant!" Mary snapped out the window. "This is hardly acceptable behavior. I have _never _disobeyed you before and I certainly do not deserve this sort of treatment. My family needs me now more than anyone else. Give me a few years of peace and then I'll resume my work. A few years, that's all I ask."

Apparently this was an acceptable compromise to the wind because it dropped off almost immediately.

Eight months later, Bert and Mary welcome a beautifully healthy baby girl. Bert had pushed to name her after Mary, but Mary had refused, insisting on a name she didn't have to grow into. They compromised on Rosemary Kathleen. Almost immediately, the little girl is nicknamed Rosie by her father—fitting, considering the pink-tinged cheeks she inherited from her mother.

The following five years are blissful—practically perfect in every way. They don't have much money but have enough to make it by. Mary, of course, made the perfect mother after all of her experience as a nanny, and Rosemary absolutely idolized her. And Bert made a wonderful father, doting endlessly on the sweet-tempered little girl.

Two days after Rosemary's fifth birthday, everything changed.

The breeze started as a gentle tug—just to remind her of her promise. Mary ignored it and continued to play with her daughter. But the wind continued to blow, more and more insistently and harder to resist.

Bert noticed that as the wind grew stronger, Mary's face grew paler, her frame thinner as she fought the pull only she could feel. She started moving as if it pained her and was hesitant to pick up Rosie. But she still fought off leaving, unwilling to abandon her family.

"Mary," he finally said one night as they got ready for bed and the wind howled outside. "You 'ave to listen to the wind. You need to."

"I beg pardon? I do not _need _to do anything!"

"Mar, I 'ate seeing you like this. It kills me to see you in pain. It's time for you to go."

"And what about Rosemary? I won't resign her to a motherless existence!"

"Motherless? You'd be 'ome every couple of months, Mary!" he argued. "I can take care of 'er while you're off!"

Mary opened her mouth to speak, but a gust of wind shook the shutters and she grimaced in pain instead. It went against everything she ever knew to fight the wind for this long and it got more painful with each breeze.

"Mary, go," he insisted.

"Alright. You needn't be so adamant," she sighed.

She packed her carpet bag for the first time in years, holding back tears as she kissed her daughter goodbye and then her husband. He thought she was so emotional because it was her first time away from her daughter, but it was more than that.

She insisted that he go inside, that she would not have him watch her leave without him. He went inside and she nearly collapsed with the effort of staying on the ground for a few more seconds. She could feel the spite and anger in the wind and she knew the second her feet left the ground, they'd never be allowed to walk the floorboards of the small house again. She couldn't bear that thought. She couldn't, _wouldn't_, leave her daughter to only remember her through stories Bert would tell her, and she couldn't let Bert think she had walked out on him to never return.

So as Bert closed the door and went to comfort Rosemary, Mary did what she had to. As the downstairs lights turned off, Mary did a quick bit of magic, erasing herself from their photos and, more importantly, their memories.

* * *

><p><strong>Oh, as if that's the end of the story...<strong>

**Please do let me know what you think!**

**I hope you liked it!  
>-Juli-<strong>


	2. Chapter 2

**Okay, I wrote this on a very, very long plane ride, so excuse me if it's not my best. But I am happy to report that I have internet here and a little time every day to write so… yay! Enjoy!**

**I continue to own nothing.**

* * *

><p><em><strong>1960s<br>(Present Day)**_

Nearly ten years go by and while Mary does feel the same sense of satisfaction helping families, she knows her work isn't nearly as perfect as it once was. Though of course she cares for her charges and their families, she can't help but feel angry with them for so carelessly throwing away the one thing she longs for desperately. She _had _the perfect family, one of the very few, it seems, _not _in need of her help and she was forced to give it up. She would complain more if she weren't so practically perfect.

Almost ten years to the day since she left, on what she always considers the best and worst day of the year, the wind sets her down in front of a terribly familiar house. _Please, anything but this_, she thinks. _Anything_.

The wind shows no sign of picking up and blowing her to anywhere else. She curses it and wonders what she did to deserve this.

As she hesitates outside the house, a car pulls up and a man and teenage girl get out, the girl slamming the door. "Rosie, what am I goin' to do with you?" Bert asks, frustration evident in his voice. Mary's breath catches in her throat—he's just as handsome as the day she left.

"Dad, this isn't my fault! Mrs. Franklin _hates _me for no good reason!"

"Want to try that again, and this time not blame your bad grade on someone else? This is your second D this year! And in 'istory too! You love 'istory!"

"Well, maybe if my father could help me with my homework…"

Bert looks like he's been slapped and Mary feels the pain as well—that is _her _daughter throwing around insults like baseballs. She was going to let this scene play out but for once she can't hold her tongue. "That is no way to speak to your father," she interrupts. "Now apologize."

"Who are you?" Rosemary asks, but not before mumbling an apology to her father.

"I'm Mary Poppins," Mary replies haughtily. "And you must be Rosemary Alfred. Happy Birthday, if I'm not mistaken."

"Wha- how did you know that?"

"I have my ways," Mary smiles vaguely, as if she would ever forget the day she gave birth to her little girl. "Mr. Alfred, perhaps I could be of some service in this matter." She searches for a hint of recognition in his face but it remains blank.

"Oh-"

"I'll tutor Rosemary. You'll find I have an impeccable education and make an excellent teacher. After all, you did advertise for one, did you not?"

"Daddy, you didn't!" Rosemary cries. "One D doesn't mean I need a tutor!"

"Two, now," he corrects. "And maybe it's best, Rosie."

Rosemary stamps her foot and huffs. "You didn't need to go behind my back about it."

"Oh, you would have agreed?" Mary asks pleasantly.

"Well, no… But still!"

"Miss Poppins, we appreciate the offer but I can't afford to pay you much," Bert says.

"Room and board shall be all I need," she replies. "If you have the room, of course."

Bert grins. "Rosie will set you up. Thank you, Miss Poppins."

"It's my pleasure, Mr. Alfred."

"Bert'll do," he informs her. "Mr. Alfred was my father."

"Then Mary or Mary Poppins will be fine, thank you. Miss Poppins is… well, certainly not me."

"And Rosemary is just fine for me, if anybody cares. Now if you two are quite done gawking at each other, I have homework," Rosemary gripes.

Mary hides a blush and collects her things. "Of course. Now if you'll show me to where I'll be staying, we can get to work on that homework." Rosemary groans. "Well, if you didn't intend to do it, you shouldn't have brought it up."

"I am _not _going to like this arrangement," Rosemary gripes under her breath but shows Mary the familiar room off the kitchen. "Sorry it's not bigger. We don't really get visitors, so we don't use it for much of anything," Rosemary apologizes.

Mary looks around. "Well, it's not exactly Buckingham Palace, but it'll do when I'm through with it." She looks around and opens her carpet bag. "First things first, I always say the proper place to hang a hat is a hat stand."

Rosemary's eyes grow wide as the object appears out of the bag. "Okay, that's a pretty neat trick."

"It's no trick," Mary sniffs. "No mirror, I see." She pulls the gilded frame out of the bag.

"You can't even see where it collapses! How did you do that?"

"I beg your pardon? I've done nothing! You're far too cynical for your own good, Rosemary."

"I'm not cynical! But a hat rack in a carpet bag just simply isn't possible!"

"Anything is possible, Rosemary. Never judge anything by its appearance; I'm sure I never do."

Rosemary rolls her eyes but looks genuinely stunned when Mary continues to pull things out of her bag. Finally, Mary sighs contentedly. "There. Now step up, then. Let me have a look at you."

Rosemary slumps into the light. "Happy?"

"Don't slouch, Rosemary." Immediately Rosemary stands ramrod straight, her posture echoing Mary's own. Mary studies her. She has Bert's lopsided grin and messy brown hair. But her nose turns up pertly at the end, just like Mary's, and her eyes… Oh, she definitely has the bright blue eyes that all Poppins women have, though the mischievous glint in them is rather permanent, like her father. Mary's breath catches in her throat; Bert has raised their daughter into a beautiful young woman, even if he doesn't know it and she's rather headstrong.

Mary shakes her head. This assignment has to be purely business; she has to be incredibly careful not to get tangled up in it. It will be difficult enough leaving as it is. "Now then," she says, pulling out her tape measure. "Let's see how you measure up."

As she pulls the measure to Rosemary's head, she reads, "'Stubborn and prone to slacking off when bored.' Well, we'll just have to do something about that, won't we? Where is that homework of yours?"

0ooo0

About an hour later Bert knocks on the door. "Come in!" Mary Poppins calls.

"Is everything alright?" he asks, a little nervously.

"Quite satisfactory, thank you."

"You're sure?"

"Absolutely. Your house is lovely," she comments as if she hadn't spent a year decorating it.

"My wife's doing, not mine," he says modestly. "She did it before Rosie was born, when we were first married."

"You must have been very happy."

"We were. I still miss 'er, y'know? Wish every day that she were still 'ere."

"It must be difficult."

"Sometimes. Rosie makes it worth it though. Well, when she's not fighting me on everything."

"I'm sure things will get better, Mr. Alfred."

"Bert," he insists.

She bites the inside of her cheek, holding her tongue. Her first instinct, of course, is to call him Bert but she needs the reminder of their distance if this is going to work. "Bert," she repeats. "Everything will get better."

"Why are you 'ere, Mary Poppins? Working for nothing and bothering with me and Rosie?"

She smiles gently. "Rosemary has potential. Besides, it's what I do. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to settle in. And then I'll cook dinner."

"You don't-"

"I insist. Please tell Rosemary that I expect her homework done by dinner."

0ooo0

"Mary Poppins! Mary Poppins!" Rosemary calls excitedly as she bangs her way through the front door several weeks later.

"Kindly do slow down, Rosemary. You are not a racehorse," Mary chides.

"Sorry. But look!" Rosemary holds out the piece of paper that's been flapping in her hand. Mary takes it and finds that it's her daughter's history test. And there is a big B marked at the top.

"Better," she smiles. "_Much_ better."

"It just all sort of came to me as I was writing! I'm certain it's because of you. You're my good luck charm. Promise me you won't leave at least until I'm into university!"

"That's a pie crust promise," Mary sniffs. "Easily made, easily broken. And I can assure you I am no one's good luck charm. You're a very smart girl when you set your mind to it. I can't take credit for that."

"I'm not really though," Rosemary sighs, looking at the floor.

"Rosemary Alfred, I will not have you belittle your god-given talents, not while I'm around. I do not say things that aren't true."

"It was just a spot of luck. That's all."

"Rosemary, that is _enough_!"

"Rosie, what did you do now?" Bert sighs as he enters the kitchen. "Mary Poppins sounds cross."

Mary rolls her eyes to the ceiling. "I am never cross. But your daughter refuses to believe that she has intelligence and I find false modesty quite off-putting."

"Mary Poppins just won't admit that she's a good luck charm!"

"I am no charm of any sort!" Mary insists.

"Well, you're certainly _charming_," Bert says under his breath, but Mary hears him and blushes.

"Oh dear," Rosemary groans. "This again. I'm going to do my homework."

"Wait, wait," Bert stops her. "Why were you an' Mary Poppins arguing over your intelligence?" Mary hands over Rosemary's test. "Rosie, this is great!"

"It's nothing," she blushes.

"No, I'm with Mary Poppins on this one. I'm proud of you, Rosie."

She grins but ducks her head to hide it. "Mary Poppins, will you help me with my homework?"

"Certainly. Bert, if it's alright with you, I'd like to take Rosemary out to dinner tonight to celebrate. We have things to discuss."

"Oh, I forgot to tell you!" Rosemary exclaims. "I'm going to Elena's house for dinner! We have a project for our science class and need to finish."

"Is that so?" Bert asks suspiciously.

"She lives just a block over. You can phone over to her house and ask her parents. We've gotten their permission. I promise, Daddy, no tricks this time. You can call every hour, if you'd like."

"I don't think that shall be necessary," Mary smiles.

"Daddy, can I?"

"May, Rosemary," Mary corrects.

"May I, Daddy?"

"I suppose. You can walk, can't you?"

"Absolutely! Oh, thank you!" Rosemary cries and runs out of the room.

Bert nods. "Well, Mary Poppins, looks like it's just you an' me for dinner. 'ow 'bout I cook for you?"

"Oh, no, I couldn't possibly-"

"I insist."

"Well, alright then. If you insist."

"I do."

0ooo0

"Oh, Bert, it's delicious!" Mary exclaims. She has _missed _his cooking.

"It's nothin'," he says.

"Nonsense. I won't have false modesty from Rosemary and I certainly won't have it from you!"

"You've been a blessing with her, Mary Poppins," he admits. "We were going through a rough patch before you came."

"Oh?"

"Never could see eye-to-eye with that one. It didn't ever matter until 'er grades started suffering. I worry sometimes that I never remarried and she's suffered for it."

Mary takes a sip of water. "If it's not too impertinent, might I ask what became of Mrs. Alfred?"

Bert doesn't look her in the eye but answers anyways, "She died after 'aving Rosie. I think Rose blames 'erself for that too. Girl would rather take the 'ole world on 'er shoulders than let anybody else take a bit of blame."

"She's a fine girl," Mary says quietly. "A fine young woman. You've done a wonderful job of raising her. I don't think she's suffered for lack of a mother."

"Y'know, it's funny," Bert mentions. "You've only been 'ere a week, yet I feel as if I've known you for me 'ole life."

"You most certainly have not," Mary informs him, probably too quickly. Then she lowers her eyes and looks up through her lashes. "But I can't say I don't have the same feeling."

When did he get so close? And is it possible for his eyes to have gotten _kinder_? And exactly how fast can her heart beat without giving her a heart attack? All valid questions and all have to do with the insane muddle she seems to have gotten herself into.

She coughs. "I need to read over Rosemary's essay and then I believe I shall sleep. Goodnight, Bert."

The tips of his fingers just brush hers as she gets up. "Goodnight, Mary Poppins. Sweet dreams."

0ooo0

Rosemary returns the next morning with a grin. "So," she says coyly to Mary. "Anything _interesting_ happen while I was away?"

"I'm sure I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about."

"You and my dad… Alone… Romantic dinner…"

"Rosemary, I can assure you that nothing happened last night. The very idea! Kindly stop making such tawdry accusations."

"I'm just saying… You two look pretty cozy."

Mary's cheeks color. "Your father and I have nothing in common other than our mutual interest in your success," she replies haughtily. _And that we were married for six years. And have you._

"Right," Rosemary says skeptically. "Would it really be so bad though? I mean, it's not like he's exactly hideous. He's actually kind of handsome. And he's a good guy."

"Rosemary-"

"I just think you're a good match. You're good for him. He's far more cheerful with you here. We get along so much better now."

"If you don't mind my asking, what happened to cause such problems between you two?"

"I... Well, I might have I had… Well, there was a boy and Dad didn't approve at all. And he was right… As usual."

Mary's heart breaks when she realizes just how many milestones she's missed out on in her daughter's life. "Your father loves you very much, Rosemary."

"I know," she sighs. "And he deserves to be happy. Promise me you'll stay for awhile."

"I-"

"And none of that pie crust promise stuff!"

"I shall stay until the wind changes," Mary replies. "Not a second more or less."

"What does _that_ mean?"

Mary smiles cryptically but says nothing.

0ooo0

Bert and Mary continue to do an awkward sort of dance around each other. It's very clear that Bert is very interested in her—though, in true Bert fashion, he'd never actually say anything about it—and she wants nothing more than to reestablish herself in his life but that didn't work out the first time, so why should it work now that she has to lie to his face nearly every day? Instead of giving in, she swallows her feelings, ducks her head whenever he looks at her, and pushes onward. It won't be long until she has to leave again.

Mary is knitting in the front room when Rosemary slams the front door, muttering darkly to herself. "I didn't even want to go to the stupid thing anyways and why would I?"

"Rosemary?" Mary questions.

"You know what is just awful?" Rosemary asks suddenly.

"I haven't the foggiest."

"Not having a mother. It's awful. You can't go to stupid mother-daughter things and everyone looks at you like you're some sort of charity case. Dad's done a great job all by himself. I mean, he has! Hasn't he?"

Mary closes her eyes briefly; this is her fault. "Your father has done a wonderful job. You are an incredibly lucky girl."

"Then why does everybody think I'm the most pathetic thing ever? It's not as if I'm an orphan!"

Mary shakes her head. "People will believe what they want to believe."

"It's just… I hate it," Rosemary sniffs and tucks herself into Mary's arms.

Mary stiffens, then lets herself just hold her little girl, trying to convey just how sorry she is. She rests her chin on top of the girl's head and holds her tight. "Oh, Rosie," she sighs, the old nickname slipping out accidentally. "I wish I could make this better."

Now Rosemary stiffens and pulls away. There's a cold sort of fury in her eyes that has never been there before. "Only my dad calls me Rosie. If I had a mother, she would too. But I don't. I like you, Mary Poppins, but no matter how much you try or wish or whatever, you will _never _be my mother. My mother is dead. Dead and gone and never coming back. So don't… just don't."

Mary manages to stand straight as Rosemary storms out of the room, but tears start rolling down her face quietly when she leaves.

"So when are you going to tell her?"

Mary turns on her heel to find Bert leaning in the doorway. "I beg your pardon?"

"I asked when you're going to tell her?"

"Rosemary? Tell her what exactly?"

"That she's wrong."

"Excuse me?"

He smiles patiently. "Mary Poppins, you and I both know two things that Rosie doesn't."

She tries to hide her nerves behind bravado. "Oh we do, do we?"

He holds up a finger to count off his points. "One, Mary Poppins is your maiden name, not your married one. And two, Rosie couldn't 'ave been more wrong when she said you're not 'er mother."

* * *

><p><strong>Huh, well, that's certainly interesting, I must say… Don't worry, I only have one more chapter to wrap up this story!<strong>

**Until then!  
>-Juli-<strong>


	3. Chapter 3

**Look! I actually finished a story! And it's as long as I said it was going to be! This may be a first. Enjoy!**

**I own nothing.**

* * *

><p>"<em>One, Mary Poppins is your maiden name, not your married one. And two, Rosie couldn't 'ave been more wrong when she said you're not 'er mother."<em>

"I- I beg your pardon?" Mary stammers. "I don't… I most certainly do not-"

He grins easily. "Oh, come now, Mary, you can drop the act. Or did you erase your own memory too?"

"You… you remember?" she asks faintly. "But I-"

"What? You think you can just snap and erase the love of me life from me memory? You're good, Mary Poppins, I'll give you that, but you're not _that _good." He grins but then frowns when he sees her face. "'Ere, Mary, are you feeling alright?"

"You knew?" she asks faintly. "But you didn't say anything!"

"Mary, sit down," he instructs, worry lining his face as he leads her to the sofa.

She looks up at him. "Why didn't you tell me?"

He sits down next to her. "I knew you 'ad your reasons."

"But… But I- you should have let me know!"

"I thought it was easier for you this way, so you could come around on your own time. But then I overheard you talking with Rosie and…" he trails off and shrugs.

"Bert, I- I am so sorry. Can you ever forgive me?"

"I don't 'ave anything to forgive you for, Mar," he replies easily, her old nickname slipping back into his mouth as if it never left.

"But I let you raise our daughter alone for ten years! I left and I never came back. How can you possibly not hate me?"

"Easy," he says. "I still love you. Besides, I know you were doing what you thought best. 'Ere now, don't cry, Mary!"

"I'm sorry," she sniffs. "I don't usually, but I just…"

He gathers her into a hug. "'s all right, Mary. Really. You don't need to be upset. Me n' Rosie managed just fine."

"I've let you both down," she cries into his shoulder. "Bert, I just… I didn't want you to think that I had left. I knew I wouldn't come back and I thought it would be easier… Better, if I never existed at all."

She hates herself for going to pieces like this. But the only thing that has gotten her through the past ten years is the knowledge that he couldn't possibly miss her as much as she missed him and now she's found out that it's completely untrue.

"Mary," he says quietly, tilting her chin up with his hand. "You 'aven't let either of us down. And what's done is done. 'S all right. Don't cry."

"I am so sorry, Bert. How can I make it up to you?"

"If you don't mind, I think I'd like to kiss me wife."

She's shocked into laughing through her tears. And then she leans forward and kisses him. It feels like the only thing she was ever meant to do.

"Mary Poppins, I- oh! Sorry! Leaving now!" Rosemary exclaims, turning around as fast as she can manage.

Mary blushes as she and Bert spring away from each other. Their daughter pushes her way rather blindly out of the room as her parents look at each other. Mary covers her mouth to hide a giggle.

"So are we going to tell 'er?" Bert asks after a moment.

She sighs and stands. "I'll do it. I- well, I have to explain myself. But thank you for offering to help."

"Anything for you, Mary. You know that."

Mary rubs her temples. "She's going to think I didn't love her."

"You and I both know that's not true," he replies. "She might not know it on the surface at first, but deep down she'll know you love 'er more than anything in the world."

She turns in the doorway. "By the way, Bert, I love you too. I never stopped."

0ooo0

She finds Rosemary spinning on the old tire swing in the backyard. "Rosemary," she says, mostly just to announce her presence.

The girl looks up. "Sorry about that. I didn't know that you two were… you know?"

"I'd like to speak to you, if it's alright with you."

"Fine. But if it's a whole spiel about how you're not replacing my mother, you can save it. I know it. And I'm sorry I got mad earlier."

"Please come sit on the porch."

"Why?" Rosemary asks, narrowing her eyes at the nervous note in Mary's voice.

"We need to talk and I'd prefer you not be dizzy while we do so."

Rosemary heaves a sigh but gets up all the same. "I really don't need a lecture on how rude I was to you. I know it was mean. I feel badly. Can't we forget it?"

"Rosemary, what you said about your mother, it's… well, it's not exactly the truth."

"What do you mean? Of course it is."

Mary tries another approach. "You know I'm not exactly… usual."

"You mean the magic thing?" At this point Rosemary has accepted Mary's magic, though sometimes with a grain of salt.

"Right…" she sighs. This is far more difficult than she'd anticipated and she changes tactics again. "I'd like to tell you a story."

"Alright," Rosemary agrees, clearly humoring the woman. "About what?"

"Well… Me. You see, I was married. Well, _am _married. To a wonderful man whom I love."

Rosemary jumps up. "Woah, woah, woah, why are you telling me this? And does my father know about this? Oh my God, he doesn't, does he? He'd never-"

"Rosemary Kathleen, be quiet and let me finish speaking!" Mary nearly yells. They look at each other in shock; it's the closest Mary has ever been to actually losing her temper.

Rosemary sits back down quietly.

"Thank you," Mary swallows. "About fifteen years ago, my husband and I had a child. A little girl." Mary looks up at the sky rather than at her daughter. "She was… she _is_ the light of my life. I've done a lot of wonderful things, but she's the best. Oh, my husband and I, we loved that little girl more than life itself… But I had made a rather foolish promise and shortly after her fifth birthday, I had to leave. I thought I would never see either of them again, so, again, rather foolishly, I made a decision to erase myself from their lives. I didn't want either of them to think that I didn't love them enough to stay. Do you understand?"

Rosemary shakes her head no. "Are you going back to them now?"

Mary bites her lip. "I can't do that. You see, I've already come back to them, only my daughter, she doesn't know it yet."

Rosemary's brow furrows as she starts to understand a little. "I don't… I don't get it."

"I was married in 1950," Mary says gently. "I took my husband's last name and became Mary Alfred."

"So you and my father were married?"

"And we have a daughter—a beautiful young woman now, named Rosemary Kathleen."

There's a sharp intake of breath. "But… but… no! No," Rosemary insists firmly, leaping out of her chair and running up to her room, slamming the door as she goes.

Mary sighs and follows her. Rosemary has flung herself across her bed, her jaw set obstinately. She glares as Mary closes the bedroom door quietly. "That was a horrible trick to play," she snaps.

"I don't play tricks," Mary replies calmly.

"Then you're just cruel."

Mary picks up a hand mirror and brings it over to Rosemary. "Look at your eyes. Then look at mine."

"I don't-"

"Rosemary, please."

She heaves a sigh and looks. Then she looks again. And again. Finally, she gets up and goes to her mirror, motioning for Mary to follow. Finally she pronounces, "We have the same eyes."

"Yes," Mary nods. "Your father used to tease me that you looked more like him than me, but I always said at least I got your eyes."

"But it's not possible…"

"Give me your hand please."

Rosemary looks at her suspiciously.

"Rosie, I know I'm asking a lot of you today, but please, just trust me one more time."

Grudgingly, Rosemary gives over her hand. Mary allows the wall she had placed in her daughter's mind to crumble.

"_Mommy?"_

_Both Mommy and Daddy sit up immediately in bed, worried. "What is it, Rosie? Is something the matter?"Mommy asks._

"_I think there's a monster in my closet."_

"_Oh, there is, is there? Did you turn on the light and tell him to go away?"_

"_Yes, but he won't go!" she wails._

_Right away, Mommy is at her side, tying her robe. Then she fetches one of the irons by the fireplace. "Let's go deal with him, shall we?"_

_Mommy carries her into her room and sets her down on the bed, holding a finger to her mouth so Rosie will be quiet. Then she walks into the closet and closes the door. Some scary bangs follow but then Mommy opens the door and she looks fine. "There, Rosie. No more monster."_

"_Is he… is he still in there?"_

"_No, he is not," Mommy says firmly. "He's all gone. Get some sleep, Rosie."_

_Mommy turns out the light and goes back to Daddy but the dark is scary without Mommy there. Rosie gets up and walks to Mommy and Daddy's room again._

"_Mommy?" she asks as she opens the door. Mommy and Daddy sit up again._

"_Yes, Rosie?"_

"_I'm scared. I think the monster had friends. My dreams are going to be scary." She just knows they will._

_Mommy and Daddy look at each other. "D'you want to sleep in 'ere tonight, Rosie?" Daddy asks._

_She nods, bringing her thumb to her mouth._

"_Alright. Just for tonight," Mommy says, pulling back the covers and patting the bed._

_Rosie tries to get up but the bed is very tall, so Mommy leans down and picks her up. Rosie snuggles happily into the space between her mommy and daddy. Mommy kisses her forehead. Daddy tickles her and she giggles._

"_Not another sound out of the two of you or I shall have to summon a policeman. Is that clear?" Mommy asks, wrapping her arm around Rosie._

"_Yes, Mommy," Rosie says and Daddy says it too. Then they look at each other and start giggling._

"_Shall I call for that policeman?"_

"_Sorry, Mommy." Rosie feels badly for upsetting Mommy. But then _Mommy _starts tickling her too! She climbs out of her parents' reach and pouts. "We are _sleeping_," she tells them._

_Mommy and Daddy look at each other and start laughing but Rosie doesn't know why._

Rosemary looks at Mary in shock, tears rolling down her cheeks. Her other memories aren't as clear, but they have one thing in common: Mary's constant, loving presence until it suddenly just isn't there.

"But why did you… why couldn't you…" she fumbles for words, gulping for air as she cries. "Why did you have to leave? Didn't you… didn't you love me?"

Tears spring to Mary's eyes and she hugs her daughter fiercely. "Of course I loved you!"

"Then why did you leave?"

Mary swallows. "My job is… unique. I don't just watch children, I… I put families back together. Because of that, my life isn't entirely my own. Your father and I didn't exactly wait for permission to get married and I was supposed to go to my next assignment when we found out about you. So I promised to be thoroughly obedient, if only I could have a little time with you. But leaving you was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. And I was selfish; knowing you wouldn't remember me made it a little less painful to leave. I thought I was doing you a favor, but… I was wrong. And I'm sorry."

Rosemary looks up at her and squeezes. "I forgive you."

Mary smiles but it hides distress. She suddenly knows it's time for her to go; her family is as fixed as it can be.

"Wait, does Daddy know?"

Mary sighs. "He does. My spell didn't work on him, for whatever reason."

"So he knew? He knew you weren't dead?"

"Rosemary…"

"He lied to me?"

"I did," Bert says as he comes into the room. "An' I'm sorry. But I thought it would be easier on you. I knew you wouldn't remember your mom an' it was easier than explaining to a five year old where her mom was. I'm sorry, Rosie."

Rosemary frowns. "Don't," she says, shoving away from both of her parents.

"Rosemary, please don't be like this," Mary begs, noting the change in the wind.

"You both _lied _to me for ten years! How am I _supposed _to be?"

"Rosie-"

"No! Neither of you can call me that. We're not family if you can do something like this!" She storms out of her room.

"Rosemary, I have to leave!" Mary calls after her. "Please don't make me leave like this."

The only response is a slammed door.

"Well, that went well," Mary comments sarcastically, hastily wiping tears off her cheeks.

"You 'ave to go?" Bert asks.

"The wind has changed," she sighs and goes to her room to pack.

He follows her. "No memory stuff this time, alright? We'll be 'ere waiting. I'm sure Rosie'll come around eventually."

She nods stiffly, holding back even more tears as he kisses her. "I love you, Bert."

"I know," he says. "I love you too."

"If Rosie ever starts speaking to you again, do tell her that I love her."

"She knows, Mar, you know she does."

"I can't imagine why."

She gathers up her carpetbag and umbrella and walks out of the house. "I'll miss you."

"We'll see each other again soon," he replies easily. He sounds so confident.

"Right." She opens her umbrella and closes her eyes.

"Wait!" Rosemary calls, running out of the house. "Mary- Mom- whatever, don't go!"

The swell of the wind stops momentarily and Mary's feet touch the ground again. She's almost knocked off of them when Rosemary barrels into her and hugs her tightly.

"Rosemary-"

"No, it's alright. I just… I didn't want you to think I didn't love you."

"Rosemary, you are a _wonderful _young woman." She tilts her daughter's face up to look at it. "I am _so _proud of you."

"It's Rosie, Mommy," she says quietly and lets her go.

Mary nods and closes her eyes again…

Nothing happens. The wind dies down. Mary looks around and realizes this all.

A slight breeze plays with the hair that's escaped her bun.

"_Really_?"

"Yes, of course."

"_Thank you!_"

Rosemary and Bert look at each other and shrug.

Mary turns to them, a grin threatening to overtake her face. "I'm to stay here. My family needs me."

Bert picks her up and swings her around, kissing her thoroughly. Rosie turns away for that, but then hugs her mother.

Always one to think things through, Rosie stops. "Wait. What about everybody else? They think you're dead."

Bert takes Mary's hand. "'ow would you feel about a new stepmother, Rosie? Because I'm not letting this one out of me sight again!"

Later, whenever anyone meets the Alfred family with the newly appointed Mrs. Alfred, the first thing they comment on is the uncannily similar coloring of both stepmother and daughter's eyes.

* * *

><p><strong>I hope you liked it! Thanks for reading!<strong>

**-Juli-**


End file.
